


Tremulous and Tender

by being_alive



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: AU, F/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 17:02:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16453889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/being_alive/pseuds/being_alive
Summary: He sits on the edge of his bed with you standing in between his long legs, his dark eyes meeting yours as he asks, "Are you sure about this?"You nod and reply, "I'm not going to think of you any differently because of it."He frowns and you lean in and kiss him, quickly and chastely."Erik. Trust me," you say and he nods, slowly.





	Tremulous and Tender

**Author's Note:**

> Just when I think I'm done rediscovering all my older fics, I go and find this one!

He sits on the edge of his bed with you standing in between his long legs, his dark eyes meeting yours as he asks, "Are you sure about this?"

You nod and reply, "I'm not going to think of you any differently because of it."

He frowns and you lean in and kiss him, quickly and chastely.

"Erik. Trust me," you say and he nods, slowly. You gently remove the mask from his face and set it down onto the bedside table before doing the same to his wig. You cup his face in one of your hands as you run your fingers over the dips and bumps on the right side of his face with the other. His dark eyes flutter shut and his lips part. You can hear the sound of his breathing, faster than normal as you run your fingers over the warped skin where his eyebrow would be, down past his sunken eye, over the waxy skin of his high cheekbone, over the twisted skin of his cheek, over to the misshapen side of his nose, and finally you run your thumb over his swollen, lopsided bottom lip. 

He lets out a long, shuddering sigh and you cup his face with your other hand before leaning in and pressing your lips to his. As you do so, his eyes fly open in shock and you simply kiss him harder in return. He hesitantly places his arms around your waist and you move one of your hands to clutch at his sparse, coarse hair. 

You can remember the first time you kissed him. He had been composing for almost half of the day, and you had come to check up on him, carrying a brown paper bag of food from your house. You had sat down next to him on the organ bench and asked him what he was composing. He told you it was a secret and you leaned in and kissed him for no reason other than that you felt like it. He had nearly fallen off of the bench in shock, the side of his face not covered by the mask as red as a tomato.

It had taken many months, many kisses, and many promises that you wouldn't think any differently of him for him to agree this, but you're glad he finally did, even if he still acts like this is the first time you've ever kissed him. You pull away from the kiss and say, "Scoot back."

He does so after simply staring at you with a look of slight confusion on his face for several long moments. When he's finally completely on the bed, you crawl up next to him and push him back so that he's laying down before straddling his hips and leaning down and kissing him again. Kissing his lopsided mouth is more pleasant than you originally thought it'd be, back when you first thought about kissing him after you first felt the stirrings of what would soon become feelings of something far deeper than simple friendly affection. You pull away and sit back on his hips, trying to pay little attention to the bulge in his trousers.

"See? Your face doesn't bother me. You're still you," you say with a shrug as you pull away from the kiss, sitting back on his thighs, before you reach down and play with the first button of his shirt. He grabs your wrist with one hand and you realize that you managed to unbutton the first button in your absentminded fiddling. You look at his face, eyes meeting his. The normal side of his face is as red as the first time you kissed him and his eyes are even darker than they normally are. He loosens his grip on your wrist and you pull your arm free. You move your hand to the second button on his shirt.

"Do you want to..." You trail off, unsure of how to phrase the question of if he wants to have sex with you. He lets out a shuddering breath and replies, "God, yes. But do you really want to?" He gestures at his face and continues, "Or do you just feel sorry for me?"

You move off of him and sit beside him, glaring at him. He sits up and looks at you.

"Of course I really want to, you fool," you say, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and kissing him. He kisses you back, harder than he's ever kissed you before and you can feel desire pooling low in your stomach. You move your hands to the second button on his shirt and unbutton it. When he doesn't object, just continues to kiss you, you unbutton the next one, the next one, and the next one until you've completely unbuttoned his shirt.

He pulls away from you so that he can finish removing his shirt, which he tosses to some unknown spot in the room before resuming kissing you. He tangles his fingers in your hair as you let one of your hands trail down his torso, feeling the bumps and ridges of old scars under your fingers. It takes you a few attempts to unbutton his trousers one-handed, but when you manage to do so, you quickly yank the zipper open and slip your hand into his underwear. Your hand closes around him and you glance up at his face just in time to see his eyelids flutter shut and his lips part as he sighs a sigh just as long and shuddering as his previous one. 

You stroke your your hand up and down the length of his cock as best as you can due to it still being within the confines of his underwear and trousers, and find that he's bigger than you expected him to be, but not overly so. Judging by his moans, what you're doing now is likely more than enough for him, but it's not for you because of your lack of range of movement and also because you want to be able see what you're doing instead of just blindly stroking him. You pull your hand away from him, out of his underwear and trousers, and simply wait, looking at him to see how he's going to react, so you'll know how to move forward with this.

His eyes fly open and he looks at you, disappointment written plainly across his face. Disappointment is good, you think, or at least better than anger, and then he's asking, "Why did you stop?"

"I want to see all of you," you state, simply.

"Only if you return the favor and let me do the same," he says, raising his dark brow at you, a bit of the man he is with the mask on showing through for the first time this evening since you took his mask off.

"You've got a deal," you say, a smile playing at your lips as you crawl off of the bed to get undressed while he lifts up just enough to get his trousers farther down. You're not entirely sure how he manages the feat of removing them without getting off the bed, but you don't question it because all that matters is that they and his underwear are now lying on the floor. You undress yourself in turn, letting every article of clothing you're wearing fall to the floor to join his clothes, until you're standing there, in front of the bed, just as naked as he is.

You look back at him, resisting the urge to cover yourself, and find him sitting up and already looking at you. Erik's dark eyes trail from your face, all the way down to your feet, and then back up.

"You're beautiful," he says after a moment, his gaze returning to your face, his eyes meeting yours.

"So are you," you say, climbing back onto the bed. He shakes his head, the desire in his eyes turning to sadness as he replies, "I don't deserve you."

"Well, you have me anyway," you say, knowing he'd just rebuff you if you tried to explicitly disagree, and you really don't feel like having that argument again, not now, and simply straddle him instead. His eyes widen almost comically as you settle yourself on his thighs. You let your gaze drift from his face, and finally down to his cock. You look at his cock and see that you were correct in your earlier assessment of him. He's big, bigger than average, but not insanely so. The head is broad and flushed red, beads of fluid already welling up his slit. You glance back up at his face, and find that he's simply watching you and biting down on his misshapen lower lip. 

Oddly enough, he seems less ashamed of you seeing his cock than he did of you seeing his unmasked face, you think, and nearly laugh at the realization. You bite your own bottom lip to keep yourself from laughing because you know neither of you would be happy if you did, and reach down and take his cock in your hand. You want this, you really do, but you don't think your body is quite ready enough yet, so instead of simply guiding him inside of you, you rub the head of his cock against your clit until both you and he are moaning and you're practically dripping with want. Desire pulses low and hot inside of you, so you decide to stop with the preparing and simply align the head of his cock with the slick opening of your sex and sink down onto him until he's buried to the hilt. 

Erik moans, loudly, his hands falling to grip the bedsheets, his eyes fluttering shut as his face contorts in pleasure. You moan as well, though not nearly as loudly, and begin rocking yourself on his cock, moving up and down the thick length of him, savoring in the way he fills you so completely. Your gaze falls from his face to his hands, which you notice he's not actually doing anything with except for clutching the sheets so hard you wouldn't be surprised if his fingers were tearing holes in them. You're quick to rectify the situation, for yourself and for the sheets, as you reach down and wrap a hand around either of his wrists and bring his hands up to rest on your breasts. You let your hands drop back to lay on his stomach, hoping that he'll get the hint. 

Luckily for you, he does. His eyes slowly open as he cups your breasts, his dark gaze meeting yours briefly before he turns his attention to your breasts. He brushes his thumbs across your nipples, first tentatively and then more persistently, until your nipples are two stiff peaks, after which he turns to rubbing your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. The feeling of his hands on your breasts is good and the feeling of his cock inside of you is even better, and you can feel the desire growing inside of you, pooling low within you, until finally, all the feelings combined reach their tipping point and you crash headfirst into your orgasm. You moan, nearly as loudly as he did earlier, as the waves of pleasure crash through you, but stay atop his cock even as the aftershocks pass through you. You open your eyes after it passes, and find him staring up at you, both sides of his face flushed red, the normal wholly and the warped blotchily, the look in his eyes somewhere between wonder and desire.

"You should get off," he says, breathlessly, and you know he's close. His concern is touching, but you didn't enter into this encounter unprepared, so you simply shake your head and stay exactly where you are, redoubling the pace of your movements atop his cock. Sooner rather than later, he is coming as well, his hands falling from your breasts to grip at your hips as he moans and his cock twitches as spurts inside of you. After he's done, you lift yourself off of him and lay down beside him, ignoring the sticky wetness between your legs for now as you simply gaze upon him.

"Thank you," Erik says, softly, rolling onto his side to face you, looking at you with something resembling love in his eyes. You know what he's thanking you for, and that it's more than just what happened between the two of you. Instead of saying anything in return, you simply smile and move closer to him and place your hand on his warped cheek before pressing your lips to his.


End file.
